


About the one who remembered.

by hakaibunshi



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21396016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakaibunshi/pseuds/hakaibunshi
Summary: After defeating Millefiore in their own shocking future, Tsuna and his friends finally return to their own time. But time travel isn’t something to be taken as lightly as they had so far... This time, something wasn’t right anymore when they returned-
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	About the one who remembered.

**Author's Note:**

> \- edited the original text because I wasn't happy with it anymore. NOT a continuation (for now) -

> “_Nothing is as far away as one minute ago._”

Jim Bishop.

*

*

*

Hayato—like the rest of them—had already become too accustomed to the absurdity of their everyday life. Not that his life had ever been ‘normal’ to begin with. But since he had come to Japan and dedicated his life to the 10th Vongole boss, things had gotten stranger even. And more often than not, they decided to laugh it off or otherwise accept it as their norm.

So perhaps it was because they had let down their guard over time with all these things that it had come to this.

When they switched with their future selves—which was crazy, of course—they thought about Lambo and I-Pin. Had it not happened to them countless times before? Without causing harm. It had been too easy to accept, to shrug it off and move along. None of them expected to ever just ...not come back from that. 

Hayato kicked a stone off the bridge and waited for the splash in the water.

But it happened.

The whole thing had been a shock. What the guardians had seen in their future, as they got stuck there... It should have been a warning. But then again... Bein intimidated by time travel would have made no difference. They still would have attempted to go back home.

He blew smoke into the air before him and watched it dissipate, then pressed the end of his cigarette against the steel bridge pillar. He stared out toward the horizon as it was swallowing up the sunlight. The orange glow fuel to his melancholia. He didn't like to admit it, but his grit was finally exhausted. He tried to remember the last time he wasn’t tired. 

He felt a storm was coming and that it was time to go home.

“Amazing view...”

Hayato closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the air from his lungs as slowly as possible. He did not bother turning around. He didn’t want to see his face anyway—his voice was bad enough.

He started to count down.

Five...

Four...

Three... Sometimes that made him go away.

Two... 

“What are you doing all the way out here anyway? Pretty far from home...”

One.

...

Takeshi stepped forward, rested his palms on the handrail, and stared into the remains of that orange ball. As did Hayato, his eyes hooded by lids so thin and red they appeared near see-through.

“...”

“Not in the mood for a talk, I see.”

Hayato bit his lip. His head was spinning as he fought the urge to turn around and shout at the other. It was pointless, anyway. He knew that much, so why bother. At best, it would upset him further.

But he could only resist for so long. After a couple of minutes of silence between them, he peeked sideways, just for a second. To see if he was still there, that baseball idiot. And sure enough, he was. Standing there in a light blue shirt, a plaid bottom-up thrown on top of it. His hair roughed up and his bat was missing. He wasn’t even wearing shoes. 

Hayato turned away again.

His chin rested on top of his arms while he observed the smooth movement of the water below. The day disappeared, finally, and the last warm glow on the water fell away with it. His eyes wandered across the calm stream but found nothing to hold onto. 

He got startled by Takeshi's soft touch to his shoulder. For the split of a second, he got caught in a familiar trap. Confused between memory and illusion, he turned around.

But as expected, Takeshi was standing there unchanged, hadn’t moved a bit. The spot on Hayato's shoulder ran cold in response to the realization.

Hayato pushed himself away from the handrail and started to walk off.

“Ho?” Takeshi smiled wide and pursued him—as he always did. “You gonna walk home?”

A deep growling, no answer from the other. Hayato walked down the bridge toward the end, ignored the red light at the crossing, and kept walking. Takeshi a measured two steps behind him.

The images came to flood his brain. He didn’t want to think about it. Not ever. But it happened whenever he saw Takeshi’s face. There was nothing he could do to stop the memories.

Memories from that all wrong future of theirs. Something had happened to them there. And Hayato wasn’t able to get it out of his head.

He knew it would take him about an hour to walk home, a little longer if he made an effort not to walk his usual fast pace.

When he lit another cigarette, he found his hands shaking. He managed tho; smoking helped to distort the impressions. Sometimes.

“Hey, Gokudera...”

Hayato had yet to figure out how long he had to ignore him to make him go away. His record was fifty-two minutes. For now, he kept walking.

He felt the frustration setting into the edges of his face. It was always hard to focus on other things. But with Takeshi in pursuit, it was impossible. From behind, Takeshi's laughter tackled him. Or it might have come from within his head. The sound was all around him.

Hayato chuckled into his sadness, strained by the effort it took not to raise his hands and cover his ears. An image of Takeshi’s face—close up—came over him. Too close. Hayato's cheek remembered the touch of a gentle hand, a thumb stroking a small but deep cut across his cheekbone... 

Yes, his body remembered all of it. That feeling. That touch. Remembered the bruises and the hurt. And the absurd rush of adrenaline that made him disconnect entirely from it. Made his chest so tight it almost suffocated what was inside. The smile that had triggered Hayato and his anger so many times before had been so soothing and exciting then.

  
  


Walking down the faint lid street, he held onto his shirt and pressed his fist against his chest; the heart underneath the fabric and the skin and flesh and bones was once more... so close to breaking.

He threw away the cigarette and sped up. After all, he suddenly wanted to be home.

“Ara- '' Takeshi followed suit, caught up, and came to walk not behind but next to him. On the street. Hayato, a little shorter but walking on the sidewalk, appeared to be at eye level with his friend. The friendly face was now floating right next to his own. How much worse could it get?

He kept biting his lip, close to breaking the thin skin, regretting that he ever left the house today. But the forecast had predicted precipitation at a chance of 60%.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket, but instead of calling him back to reality, it needed to ring a couple of times before he even noticed. A bunch of messages from Haru. He considered answering but put the phone away again. He would, once he was home.

In the distance, a car approached. Takeshi did not leave the street, and Hayato wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying something either.

The car came closer. Hayato looked straight ahead. As it swooped past them, he shut his eyes. The gust chilled his spine and his heart had skipped a beat.

Gritting his teeth, he walked a little faster.

“Are you cold?” Takeshi stretched out his hand, reaching to touch Hayato's arm that was covered in goosebumps, but Hayato retracted swiftly enough to avoid him.

He rubbed his forehead, shielding his eyes as if that would help. His cheeks were hot against the chilly night's breath. 

He couldn’t help himself: He thought back to that day from a future that they had tried so hard to destroy, a future he would now kill for to get back. 

  
  


He had been lying in bed, covered in wounds and bruises from head to toe. Takeshi came to see him. Hayato had been rendered unable to run away from the kindness by his condition. And Takeshi, looking at his wounded friend, had come to understand that maybe there wasn’t gonna be another chance.

They had finally understood the gravity of the situation—the power and danger that their enemy presented. Their peaceful days were over. Not coming back from the next fight was an actual possibility.

Takeshi stood next to the bed for the longest time, while Hayato pretended to sleep. Not an easy task when someone was staring down on you like that. Needless to say, his efforts failed him.

"I know you are awake," Takeshi admitted and Hayato opened his eyes to the dim lighting.

Takeshi sat down by his side, not asking for permission. There wasn’t much that needed explanation either. Hayato had known by then...

  
  


He turned into a small alley for a shortcut. Regret tainted his face. He felt again how Takeshi had touched his bandaged forehead, brushed his bangs out of his face. He remembered being embarrassed at first. But Takeshi had managed to make him come around to it. Just why could he not remember the things his friend had said that time? It made him angry, not being able to recall every single syllable. His body seemed better at storing these events than his brain. It didn’t make any scientific sense, he kept on telling himself. But for once, he didn’t care. Maybe this wasn’t something to explain with science.

He shook his head and started to jog. Then run. He needed to be home. Now. 

After a while, panting now, he threw his head back to see. But somewhere along the way, he must have lost the other. So was this the trick? Takeshi was a sportsman. He would have never assumed he could outrun him.

Finally, Hayato reached familiar surroundings, first recognizing Namimori station. He ran right past it. There were few people outside, no one paid him much attention. He ran down a small sidewalk, doing his best to avoid the main shopping street that would still be filled with people. 

For a second, he thought it was raining now, but that turned out to be yet another error in his brain. It hadn't rained in weeks. Not since they came back.

Two more blogs down, and finally, he reached the area he lived in. However, he refused to slow down until he reached his door. And even then, it was because the door lock forced him that he came to a halt. He fumbled for his keys, unlocked, rushed in, and slammed the door shut, his back pressed against it. Heart racing. Soaking up the quiet.

Nothing there but his breathing, but even that was calm despite the exercise. As if everything had stopped with him. It was alright to rest for a little and to acknowledge the burning behind his eyes. When it got too much, he pushed himself off the support that was his door and dragged his weight into the living room, dropping his keys on a small shelf on the way.

What a mess it was. He hadn't bothered to clean up after himself ever since they had returned from the future. Standing in the door frame, it was like looking directly at the sorry state he was in. Perfectly reflected by the dirty clothes sprawled across the carpet, burring even a plate that he couldn’t see right now. But he knew for certain it was there. 

The window was open but the curtains closed. Two bags of trash were sitting in the corner, waiting to be taken out. Papers and books and cracker packaging spilled out on the floor.

Drained.

He kicked off his shoes and walked toward the couch, where he slumped down onto his knees in front of it. His arms found refuge in the soft, welcoming cushion as did his heavy head. Takeshi sat down next to him.

Too worn out to hold it in any longer, Hayato closed his eyes and surrendered for today. 

He had no strength left to ignore him and none to shout at him. All this was far too cruel. And so meaningless.

Tears came down his cheeks and across his arms and onto the sofa. The sound of his sobbing made him sick. He was so exhausted. Not from the running. Worn down by the ghosts that were chasing him.

“Why...” He gurgled into his wet skin, hiding his face, but his fingers were trying to stretch out toward the other against his will—like roots seeking water. They remained trapped beneath his head. “Why....”

His face pressed into the crook of his arm, he felt Takeshi stroking his hair. Caressing his ear, then his neck. Gingerly as he had done before. The crying grew only louder when the other leaned over to place a gentle kiss on Hayato's neck.

“I’m so sorry....”

Hayato gasped, scared to drown in his tears. His chest hurt, and again he had himself fooled by this touch and this voice, which was so real. He reached out and into emptiness. The wet palm settled on the empty couch where Takeshi's thigh should have been.

  
  


That day, they had left the headquarters with a promise.

Their fights had gotten more challenging and more dangerous. Too much was at stake then. They had agreed to no longer ignore the feelings between them, not to waste more days fighting each other.

But at the same time, they had a mission. And they had sworn not to let it get in their way. 

Sitting on Hayato's bed, Takeshi had kissed his forehead. Although it wasn’t necessary, he had confessed to him. It had always been easier for Takeshi to speak his mind. Perhaps he had just always been more grown-up. 

Hayato had never said it out loud, but Takeshi gave him the feeling that that also was okay. Holding hands under the sheet, they promised each other to figure everything out. Once the fights were over, and they had returned to their own time.

So that was the promise they had left with. Hayato had stepped into the machine thinking about Takeshi's kiss, which he had never truly felt, obscured by the layer of bandages. The teenage heart within him eagerly awaiting something more than that.

So then, why?

  
  


Hayato had grown silent, but his tears wouldn’t stop for a while. He knew it because that’s how it was every time he started to think about that promise. That longing in his chest that would never be stilled now.

The truth was—as he had to tell himself every single goddamn time—that on that day, Takeshi had not come back with him.

Everyone else had returned without complications. Undetected by their friends, the two had gently touched their hands together as they started to lose footing, and nausea had kicked in. But when Hayato had opened his eyes on the other side of the journey, his hand was lonely. Takeshi wasn’t there anymore. 

He had never found an explanation. Though he had been researching whatever lead he had. He had tried everything, exhausted all his options. He had gone back many times. Half of him clinging to the hope of finding his friend, the other half ready to get lost as well. But all there ever was, was another possible future. Different every time, but never in the way he hoped. The one parameter they all had in common was that Takeshi was not there.

By now, he didn’t exactly remember anymore when he had started to see him. Takeshi first started to appear squatting next to the couch where Hayato was sleeping now and then.

After a short hazy period of believing that his friend had been returned to him, he accepted he might have gone mad.

Takeshi started to appear everywhere, tormenting him with the echo of his voice. He could not ever be touched, but at times, a gush of wind or a random coldness stroke Hayato's skin. He read these moments like short stories, his body interpreting the ghostly endeavors at physical communication. Oftentimes, he woke up to Takeshi's figure kneeling next to the couch. A faint hand weightless resting on Hayato's chest...

  
  


Now they looked at each other, and for the first time, Hayato saw a pang of sadness on Takeshi's face. Never again would he hear his voice so clearly, and he knew it.

“Gokudera.... you have to stop looking....”

Hayato’s breathing was calm and regulated. His eyes had burned out. His head lay sideways on the couch. His right hand stretched out toward ‘Takeshi’s spot.’

His fingers clenched the cushion as if it was the skin he was aching to touch, digging into it but hoping for nothing.

  
  


They had been so careless. Toying around with time travel as if it was nothing. One too many times, they had taken it as a nuisance to their every day, not as the threat it was.

Because nothing wrong had ever happened. 

But after all the research he had done, he now knew that there had always been speculation. The suspicion that—at a chance of one in a million—time can  _ erase  _ you if you’re unlucky enough.

"Never," Hayato said as he was drifting into the hollow sleep that had become his companion.

Which would explain why no one else ever remembered him.

*

*

*

**Author's Note:**

> 2019.11.
> 
> Right now I am only posting this as a short story, but I am thinking about turning it into a longer story, including other characters and more details about what actually happened. Not sure yet... 
> 
> (it is also likely that even if I leave it as a short story I will have to edit it once more... )
> 
> \---EDIT----
> 
> 2020.11.
> 
> And the edit came.   
I reworked the story just a little bit. nothing got added for now. But coming back a year later, I believe it got polished a little bit~


End file.
